


Zuì Quán

by PlotQueen



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotQueen/pseuds/PlotQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on vacation he can't get a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zuì Quán

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cordria's June 2010 contest on deviantArt.

She was running down the alley when Alex saw her. A slip of a girl ducking away from the busy street with three large shadows following her. After three years of espionage work he was fast enough to toss the idea that she was detouring into the bin in less than a second. Knowing that she wasn’t running so much as being chased made him a frown, a too severe look for the seventeen year old to wear.

 _This is supposed to be my bloody vacation,_ he silently grumbled as he glanced around to see if there was anything else he’d missed. There were no other people moving with purpose towards the alley—in fact, he was the only one who seemed to have noticed the girl at all.

Alex dropped the menu he’d been looking at with a snarly, “Goddammit.” Before the laminated paper even hit the table he was already on his feet and moving towards the trim wrought iron railing that was supposed to separate the café’s outdoor seating from the sidewalk and street.

He paused once, tugging a tenner out of his pocket to drop on a random couple’s table as he scooped up a whiskey glass two fingers full and splashed it down his shirtfront. The protest were loud but Alex hopped the railing, darting across the road amidst shouts and honks without a second glance.

In fact, even if he’d noticed them he wouldn’t care anyway. It was _supposed_ to be his vacation, a nice bit of time away from MI6 while school was out of session. Of course he had to stay in London; he was taking extra classes to help make up for the time he missed while on mission. But it was still a brilliant vacation because there were no mission, no Jones, and no effing Alan Blunt telling him to do this, that, or the other in order to keep Jack safe.

With a final dodge Alex made it across, pushing through several people in his efforts to hit the alley before any harm could come to the girl who’d so recently run down it. _You would think,_ Alex silently ranted, _that after so many bloody movies they’d learn not to run down the alley._

Then Alex himself was in the alley, skidding to a stop against one of the grimy walls. He kept his attention purposely away from the far end and the girl and the hulking men stalking after her. If he gave them any inkling of what he was about this would be a lot harder than it already was. And so, he staggered.

Years of martial arts training—both by lessons and the more unorthodox ‘on the job’ training—stood him in good stead, his balance not nearly so poor as he was playing at. Easily he wavered along, deliberately listing from side to side so that he managed just to scrape the brick wall of the alleyway. With the whiskey that drenched his front Alex surely appeared to be some stupid little schoolboy having a bit of fun during holiday.

Which made him nothing in the way of a threat.

He wanted to smirk, but he was far too experienced an operative to do so. Instead Alex continued on with his hastily made up plan, going so far to adlib a drunken slur as he lurched unsteadily towards his targets. “S’all this, luv?” he called, letting himself trip over a small pile of rubbish. The following splash as his other foot landed unsteadily—or so everyone else thought—was loud enough to cover the faint mutterings of the three men where they had the dark-haired girl cornered.

In that moment his gut clenched, the instinct that had saved him so many times rearing its head aggressively. Alex sped up infinitesimally, just enough so that in a handful of dangerously wobbly steps he was within reach. Of course there was the initial potshot at him. Alex wanted to sigh; his inner sense of self-preservation tells him to be careful and what does he do? He _hurries_ to his doom.

The stumble that let him dodge the fist aimed at his head sent Alex into a spin, the wobble to it putting him between the first and second goons. This time two pairs of hands reached out for him. Alex wilted completely to the ground, mockingly making retching noises as one hand clawed for the third assailant. He tripped the man and the angle at which he fell next to Alex sent his skull bouncing off of the asphalt. One down, two to go, and a frightened girl to save.

The whimper nearly made him roll to look at her as he pulled himself to his feet, teetering back and forth even as he regained them. “Stupid kid,” one of them called him; Alex veered to the side unsteadily, slipping the man again and managing to tangle the two of them up long enough to get an elbow to the side of his head.

Two down, one to go, Alex surmised as the second thug keeled over. The last one didn’t bother calling him names, just came at him with a vengeance. There were so many things Alex could do, from fighting as he was well able to continuing on with the farce he’d been putting on. He decided to keep it simple and tripped to his knees, one shoulder driving into the man’s gut with the full force of the large body behind it.

He dropped, down, but not out. Alex decided that a convenient stumble was in order, and shortly had his knee firmly connecting with the goon’s temple. _Now_ he was out. Alex stood easily and reached a hand to the girl, who whimpered and shook her head. He sighed.

“I’m not drunk,” Alex told her tartly as he ushered her to the mouth of the alley, perfectly steady on his feet. “Haven’t you ever seen _Drunken Master_?”


End file.
